“My dear friend,” she laughed, “not so tragic, if you please. She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it. She thought gleefully of the dress she would get to wear for the Ball (Prom?) and could not wait to tell her foster family about how excited she was. “I had a dream in the night,” she said. . Then the storm broke. Saturday mornings at the Beck house were routine, coffee, newspaper, bagels, and Looney Toons in no particular order. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any word processing or hypertext form.
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